TREASON AND DEATH 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 



JOHN JAY CHAPMAN 




















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Book __^^iT^ 



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THE TREASON AND DEATH 

OF 

BENEDICT ARNOLD 



THE TREASON & DEATH 

OF 

BENEDICT ARNOLD 

A PLAY FOR A GREEK THEATRE 

BY 

JOHN JAY CHAPMAN 



MOFFAT, YARD &l COMPANY 
1910 






Copyright, 1910 
By Joun Jay Chapman 



Tt. 



THE • PLIMPTON ■ ;PRESS 

[ W D ' b] 
NORWOOD MASS • U • S ■ A 



CLD 22899 



^ 

i^ 



CHARACTERS 

Benedict Arnold. 

Joshua Smith. 

Major Andre. 

Mrs. Arnold. 

William Arnold, A Boy of Eight, Son to Benedict, 

Father Hudson. 

Chorus of Waves (Men). 

Chorus of Clouds (Women). 

Chorus-leader of Men. 

Chorus-leader of Women. 

Treason. 

Death. 

Two Pickets. 

A Servant. 

SCENE 

Act I. the shore of the Hudson near west 

POINT. 

Act II. SITTING-ROOM OF BENEDICT ARNOLD IN 
ENGLAND IN 1801. 

The Acts are Separated by 
a Short Vocal Intermezzo, 



TREASON AND DEATH 
OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

ACT I 

The margin of the Hudson at West Point. 
Fort Putnam and the Highlands in the 
distance. A flag is fluttering on the 
fort. The orchestra represents the level 
of the river shore, upon which level the 
Chorus will enter. The characters of the 
drama appear on a bank or platform, 
slightly raised above the orchestra and 
Chorus. At the opening of the play 
Father Hudson is upon the scene. He 
reclines in the centre of the stage in the 
attitude of a river-god. The nook or 
couch in which he rests is situated 
between the two levels, as it were in an 
angle of the river bank. His position is 
such that he can, by turning his head, 
either watch the personages on the stage, 
or address the Chorus on the river mar- 
gin. He is so painted and disposed as 
not to attract attention when the play 
opens, but to appear rather as a part of 
the scenery and decoration. 
[7] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

First Picket, Uneasy has been my 
watch. Dark have been my forebod- 
ings, standing first on one foot and then 
on the other, through the night hours, 
preyed upon by visions, holding my eye- 
Hds open by my will, while strange 
thoughts like vultures over their carrion, 
wheeling about above me, assail me, tear 
me with their beaks and talons. Dark 
looms the cloud bank through the black 
portals of the river. The fog holds the 
bleared eyes of the morning. And I, 
stiff with watching, suspect some evil. 
Some foul play is in the mountains, 
stalking in the shadows of the dawn. 
Would God the releasing trumpet would 
blow and the flag flutter on the mountain 
side, and that I might find all well! 
General Washington is on a journey. 
Would God he were returned! [The 
sound of a bugle is heard.] Blow, blessed 
bugle! Blow to the rising Sun! Blow 
to the dayspring of Liberty, to the new 
nation rising calmly above the dangers 
that beset her dawn. Blow bugle, and 
scatter the night-thoughts of terror! 
[8] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

[Enter the relieving Picket.] Who goes 
there? 

Second Picket, A friend and thy rehef . 
Our post is changed; 
The pickets are extended up the hills, 
And this low post abandoned. 

First Picket, That is strange, 

To leave the river front without a 

watch ! 
If we expect attack, attack raust come 

Along the river, 

Second Picket. Comrade, spare your 
brains. 
And take your orders. [Exeunt Pickets.] 

Father Hudson. Daughters of the sky, 

ye clouds of the morning, 
Replenishers of my veins, ye purple, 

wandering clouds! 
And you, ye waves that lap my feet, 

far-traveling, restless, endlessly 

moving ! 
Thralls of the circling ocean, waves of 

the sea — 
Attend your Father Hudson, the Ageless, 

the Majestic! 
[9] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Calling to you, his sons and daughters, 

summoning you at his need. 
Stoop, daughters of ether, ye clouds of 

the mountains! 
Rise, sons of the sea, most ancient re- 
tainers. 
Flow towards your father's need! the 

River calls — 
Father Hudson summons his children. 

[Enter simultaneously Chorus of Waves, 
(men) on one side, and on the other. 
Chorus of Clouds (women). They flock 
slowly into the orchestra, approaching each 
other, and sing as they assemble.] 

Both Choruses. Father Hudson, we are 
coming, we are streaming, we are 
foaming 
From the sky and from the earth, 
Down the mountains, 
Through the fountains. 
We are streaming, steaming forth; 
We, the children of your will. 
Born to serve you, and to fill 
All your banks and all your margin 
With the fulness of enlarging. 
With the plentitude of rivers, 
[10] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

We, the generous water-givers, 
Overflowing, bubbling, swelling. 
Feed you with our rich upwelling. 
Chorus of Men. From Monadnock and 
Mount Washington — 
And where the haughty deer on Hudson's 

Bay 
Sniffs the north wind. We bring you Mist. 
Chorus of Women. From the rank low- 
lands of the Delaware, 
And from the even margin of low sand. 
Where the Atlantic smites the continent. 
We bring you Salt. 
Chorus of Men. From Sicily and the 
Cumsean Cave, 
And from the mountains where Apollo's 

shafts 
Whitened the hillsides once, We bring 
you Thought. 
Chorus of Women. From the dark 
heart of man that scorns the light. 
From Wisdom, found in Meekness 
through Despair, 

We bring you Grief. 
Both Choruses. Haste to where our 
father dwells! 

[11] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

We the movers, we the rovers. 
Come to your eternal dwelhng. 
Ancient father, we will bring 
News and thought of everything. 
From the mossy citadels. 
And the cities of the sea; 
Timeworn tales of prophecy 
We are bringing in our singing 
To your newer Majesty. 
To your destiny belated. 
Young and unsophisticated, 
W^e, the children of the ages, 
Bring the solemn heritages, — 
Force and Woe and Human Fate, — 
Embittering your god-like state. 

Bitter is life! 
Bitter, bitter even to the gods, is 

life! 
Father Hudson, Sons and daughters, 

sole feeders of my life, 
By these new-coming white men I am 

destroyed. 
My feet are burned in Manhattan, my 

thighs in the Mohawk, 
While in the Adirondacks they blaze 

enduring ruin. 
[12] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

{The leaders speak, not sing, except as 
otherwise noted,] 

Leader of Men, Alas! little knows he 
that his kingdom is of nothing but of 
change and pain. 

Leader of Women, Foolish god that 
must await the baptism of humanity! 

Leader of Men, Father! these things 
must be: therefore endure. Lo, thy old 
trees are as grass; thy ancient summits 
as fresh ant-hills. Chaldea sends thee 
this message, father; Egypt salutes thee; 
Greece sends thee this song; a song of 
tribulation. For there is no short cut 
to Antiquity: therefore endure. 

Father Hudson, Woe, woe, woe is me! 

Leader of Men, Untutored God ! Mind 
ragged as thy hills, thou must accept the 
refining pain. 

Father Hudson, Woe, woe, woe is 
me! 

Leader of Women, Peace, Father ! Do 
not whine. Because thou hast been 
spared thou art soft-minded. Because 
thou wast spared thou art a child. 

Leader of Men, When thy hills shall 
[13] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

have been steeped for a thousand years 
in history, then thou wilt be patient. 

Leader of Women, What thou feelest 
is not the axe nor the fire-brand, but the 
Spirit of Man moving in thy demesnes. 

Leader of Men, Lo, where it comes! 
Lo, where the shadow falls! 

[Enter Benedict Arnold. He is in the 
Uniform of an American General. He 
limps.] 

Both Choruses. A light thing is man 
and his suffering very little. 

If he can but endure for a short time, 
death saves him. Lo, his release cometh 
and his happiness is long. 

Fame forever follows in the steps of 
the just man: an unending life springs up 
behind him. 

Children follow him: a good father's 
life is a lamp that burns in the heart of 
the son. 

How short is the struggle of the great- 
est hero, and how long his fame! Save 
me from pride and from the expectation 
of praise from men. 

[14] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Arnold, He may not come. — 
What if it were a ruse to capture me? — 
The whole proceeding cloaked in infamy. 
And no faith in the matter? 
Andre should be here. Andre is a man 
Of sterling honor, and will keep his faith. 
My secret's in his hand. — My change of 

heart 
Must to His Majesty have long been 

known. 
And he will praise me for it. Civil war 
Knows no such thing as treason; change 

of sides. 
The victory of reason in the heart. 
Makes Loyalist turn Whig. Montgomery, 
Richard Montgomery, was honor's dar- 
ling; 
And when his body fell, scaling Quebec, 
Down the sheer rock it left a track of 

light 
Which sped in opposition towards the 

stars 
Bearing his fame. He was an officer 
In the King's army ere he found our own. 
Did conscience fret the gallant Irishman 
To think what uniform was on his back 
[15] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

When he so died? What if in that 

assault 
I had died too, my name had ranked with 

his 
In song and monument; unfading laurels 
Had shed their brazen lustre o'er our 

brows, 
And we, like demigods, had lived for- 
ever. 
Was it enough for him to scale the sky 
Against the slippery adamant of Fame, 
And, giving youth, give all? I have done 

more. 
All of his early prowess was mine too: 
In everything I match him; and to 

me 
Remains the hell of glory on the Lakes, 
When with my hand I stopped the 

British fleet, — 
Stayed them a year: they dreaded to 

come on. 
And I had done it. There remain my 

fights 
At Ridgefield, and those shortened days 
At Saratoga, when the fit came on 
And I knew nothing but the act of war, 
[16] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

And victory coming down, Victory, Vic- 
tory! 

'Twas I that saved them! Yes, 'twas I 
that saved you — 

Ye Httle wranglers with the name of war ! 

I beat Burgoyne, I saved the continent. 

The Continental Army and the Cause, 

Washington, Congress, and the whole of 
you, 

I saved ye, — saved ye, — and I had 
for it — 

It chokes me still to say it — had for it — 

It wakes me in the night with leaping 
hatred, — 

Out of my bed I leap to think of it, — 

Hitting me in my sleep the poison comes 

And fangs my heart. — I had a Repri- 
mand! 

I, reprimanded by a sorry crew 

Of politicians — I, I, I ! 

Thus, in my heart for sixteen months of 
hurt. 

Burns the injustice, clamors the revenge. 

No, no revenge! but justice, 

Nothing but justice — I'll have justice! 

[17] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Both Choruses, Foolish is the man 
who thinks upon his wrongs though they 
be great. The sting is in him; the poison 
is in himself. 

Lo, he accuses others, and the deed of 
his death is done with his own hand. 
Father Hudson, What is the man dis- 
turbed about, my children.^ 
Leader of Men, He is a hero and a 
battle-god : 
The spoils and the rewards he justly 

won, 
Others have seized, and left his haughty 

heart 
A withered laurel. 

Father Hudson, Surely it was wrong; 

The hero should receive the hero's meed. 

Leader of Men. The gods that made 

him hero had left out 

The drop of meekness which preserves 

the rest 
From self-destruction. 

Father Hudson, Will he kill himself? 
Leader of Men, More than a suicide. — 
A living death 
Takes up its habitation in his heart. 
[18] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Father Hudson, Little I understand, 
but greatly pity. 
You, who have mastered all philosophy. 
Can surely soothe him. 
Leader of Men, None can reach 

the man. 
He is beyond the boundaries of speech. 
And goes the paths of blindness. 
Would'st thou, O Father, see the in- 
visible. 
And know what agitates your placid 
mind? 
Father Hudson, Show me: I can re- 
ceive it. 
[The following Invocation is sung by the 
Leader of the Women in a clear contralto 
voice.] 

Leader of Women, Spirit of the unseen 
habitation, 
Walking distress. 

Blighting presence. Nemesis, Evil, 
Good-in-Darkness, 
Passing from breast to breast. 
Reaching easily all men, 
And the vine in the orchard, 
And the thick clusters of the grape, 
[19] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

And the bending branches of the young 

peach trees, 
When the south wind blows death upon 

their pride, — 
O intimate undoing ! In what form walk- 
est thou here? 
Treason. [Without.] 'Who calls? 

Leader of Men. One who knows thee 
well enough : thou need'st not hide. 
[Enter Treason.] 
Leader of Men. [To Father Hudson.] 
Behold the unsleeping fiend that lives in 

him! 
His name is Treason. 

Treason. Art thou there, Benedict? 

Arnold. [Aside.] Why not? 'Tis 

Fame, 
Reward, wealth, power, revenge and 

simple justice 
All at a clap. They'll make a Lord of 

me, — 
Pacificator of the Colonies, — 
Restorer of an erring people's love 
To their forgiving Sovereign. At a clap ! 
The key to all of this is in my hand, — 
[20] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

West Point; and in my other hand, 

Sir Henry's promises, — money in sums, 

To weigh the unweighed treasures I have 

sunk 
For these damned ingrates. 

Treason. Art thou there, Benedict? 
Arnold. [Still aside.] They took my 
all, 
Engulfed my freely-given wealth, paid 

out 
For their salvation; now they count the 

cost. 
File my accounts and give me promises, — 
Hopes for next year. 'Twas not in coin 

like that 
I paid at Saratoga! 

Treason. Benedict! 

Arnold. Who art thou, spirit of the 
inner world? 
I cannot see thee. 

Treason. And yet you called me. 

Arnold. No, I called thee not. I 
called to mind 
My bullet-shattered thigh, and the hot 

thirst 
Of fever. Did not Washington himself 
[21] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Send me the sword-knots he received 

from France, 
And Congress vote a horse caparisoned 
To bear me proudly? 

Treason. Ay; they kept 

back that 
Which all out-weighed the rest. 

Arnold. My rank! 

My rank! 
Five brigadiers promoted over me! 
Treason. They paid with compli- 
ment. 
Arnold. A soldier's rank 

Is, as his guiding genius in the sky, 
A holy thing. That rank which I had 

earned 
They gave to striplings. 

Treason. Pay them well 

for it! 
Arnold. Leave me: I do desire to be 

alone. 
Treason. Without me, Arnold, thou 
art not alone. 
I am beside thee till thy dying breath: 
When Treason leaves, he hands thee unto 
Death. 

[22] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Arnold. It is not treason to preserve 
one's life 

Among wild beasts; nor treason to de- 
mand 

The reasonable payment of a debt; 

Nor treason for the savior of a land 

Listen : — There was a stripling in the 
town 

Where I was born; and this rash vigorous 
boy 

Seized by the nose a bull, that in a fright 

Had rushed aboard a crowded ferry- 
boat, 

And held him through his plunges till 
he fell, 

Subdued by pain. The boy for no 
reward. 

But for the devil in him, did the thing. 

But had he been a man, and sought 
reward. 

Had he been banged about this rocking 
world 

As I have, holding terror by the horns, 

Could he not ask a pittance? — Leave 
me, friend. 

I am exhausted, taking all the brunt 
[23] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

And getting kicks for pay. Nay, leave 

me, Sir, 
The argument is over. Let me rest. 

[Sits down and tries to sleep.] 
Treason, I'll watch beside thee. 
Father Hudson. Can ye not calm him 

somewhat in his sleep? 
Leader of Men. [To Treason.] Will 

you not leave the man and let him 

rest.f^ 
Treason. His sleep is mine. When 

waking let him rest. 

Father Hudson. [To Treason.] This 

is a cruel fate ye mete him out. 
Treason. Be it your province to be 

merciful. 
Father Hudson. When will ye leave 

the man, thou empty ghost? 
Treason. When Treason in the flesh 

shall come to meet him. 
Both Choruses. Surely it is a good 
thing for a hero to die in his youth; for 
then is he perfect. The bark is not 
broken on the wand nor the neck worn 
by the yoke. 

[24] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Surely young men are better than old; 
and we praise them deservedly. This 
man, a few years since, could endure 
reverse; but now he is broken and worn 
away: his soul bows down; he cannot 
hold out longer. 

It is a good thing when a young hero 
dies; for so is he safe. His immortality 
is meted to him. O spare us a trial like 
this man's who is on the brink of great 
misfortune. 

Arnold, [Starting up.] They have be- 
trayed me! Who goes there? 
[Enter Joshua Smith. Exit Treason.] 
Joshua Smith. A friend! 
Arnold. His name? 

Joshua Smith, Joshua Smith. And 

yours? 
Arnold. Arnold, my man. Good God ! 
you startled me. 
I must have slept. What news? Will 
Andre come? 
Joshua Smith. He's just behind me. 
All is as we planned. 
The British sloop-of-war hangs in the tide. 
[25] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

The Vulture brought him, and she waits 
for him 

Not two miles to the south. I boarded 
her. With every point 

Raised in your letters Andre is agreed; 

And back of him, Sir Henry Clinton 
stands ; 

And back of him, — ye'U hear it now? — 
King George! 

Packt, stamped upon, agreed, and under- 
stood, 

The bargain's struck. Your hand, my 
Lord! Sir Benedict! 

Lord Ruler Benedict, The Lord Pro- 
tector of the Colonies, 

And Duke of, — what you will. Young 
Andre follows. 

I chased ahead to find you. Put it high ! 

You'll put the figure high? — I'm out of 
breath — 
Arnold. I'll put it high enough to 
help a friend. 

No fear of that, my lad. Go rest awhile: 

Stand sentinel upon the shore below. 

[Exit Smith. As Jie goes out he indi- 
cates Arnold to Andre by a gesture. 
[26] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Enter Andre. His slender, refined, almost 

girlish youth is in contrast with Arnold's 

battle-worn, gigantic figure.] 

Arnold. [Aside.] At last my arrows 
strike! [To Andre.] What! Major 
Andre ! 

This is a crazy meeting, — somewhat 
strange 

After your jigging nights in Philadel- 
phia, — 

A Mischianza, where we play a masque, 

And act a drama fraught with conse- 
quence 

More serious than any since the Duke 

Brought back King Charles. Two true- 
born Englishmen, 

If you'll accept my hand, shall this day 
place 

A jewel in old England's diadem. 

Which some rash spirits would shake out 
of it. 
Andre. Have you the papers ready? 
Arnold. They are here; 

The plans of all the out-posts to the 
dot. 

And every man on duty in the Fortress. 
[27] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Andre. The general is in Hartford? 
Arnold, And returns 

Not for some days. Our garrison I'll 

post 
Distributively on the distant hills; 
While from the Vulture half a thousand 

men 
Land in the darkness. Thus without a 

blow, 
But with the magic of a countersign, 
West Point becomes your own. 

Andre, Is there 

some house 
Or tavern, where with more deliberate 

mind 
We may o'erlook the papers, and make 

note 
Of our exacter meanings? 

Arnold, Close at hand. 

The mansion of my agent, Joshua Smith. 

Andre, Good, we'll go there. O 

Arnold, death is nothing; 

Our lives are forfeit to our country's 

cause. 
Which of us would not quit the world in 
peace 

[28] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

After some act that scaled the walls of 

time, 
And stood on the rampart? 

Arnold. Right, and bravely said ! I've 
given my life 
As many times as I have mounted horse 
To reconnoitre — 

Andre. But this is different, 

Arnold. 
Arnold. Different, ay different! it 
saves men's lives: 
Without a drop of blood it ends a war. 
Andre. You are a veteran, and know 
the feel 
Of imminent death. I could die bravely, 
too. 
Arnold. Of course you could. All 
fear is bookish talk 
Cooked up by writers out of literature, 
To give the shudder to dyspeptic girls. 
Dying is easy. Come along, my friend ! 
A glass of port shall cure us of such fears; 
Moments like this make mirth in after 
years. 

[Exeunt Arnold and Andre.] 

[29] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Father Hudson, Is there no way to 
stop them; can ye not 
Bring pause to these excited rushing men? 

Leader of Men, Pause is unknown, as 
to your moving waters, 
That take their God-directed, downward 

course, 
Deaf to beseechment. 

Father Hudson, 'Tis most pitiful. 

Both Choruses. No, not to mirth can 
my voice be tuned, while these two men 
converse. Often their story comes to 
me in the night, and causes weeping. 

One, the young troubadour, the boy 
poet, beloved by all, burning for fame; 
and, in his innocence, he performs the 
mean work of a spy. 

And the other, the old hero, seven 
times baptized with immortality-in- 
action, who betrays his country out of 
foolishness. 

To the first, death by hanging: to the 
second, one and twenty years of dis- 
honored life. 

Which of them shall have most of 
pity.^ Which of them could we see 
[30] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

again with gladness, or greet with a gay 
demeanor? 

The fate of the young man I deem the 
better; because he is young, and because 
death took him in his beauty. 

Strange it is what souls are woven 
together by destiny; and out of what 
substance life is wrought. 

All men become something incredible 
to themselves; for they are unwound like 
a cocoon, and know not which way the 
thread doth run. 

They dance like motes in the sunbeam 
for a moment, and then are illumined no 
more. Legend takes some of them, and 
they become pictures; and the rest, it 
would seem, enter again into nothing- 
ness. 

Grant me to know the desire of mine 
own heart beforehand; that I may not 
be deceived. Give me not much, but a 
true thing, and one that lasts forever. 

[The distant sound of cannonading is 
heard.] 

Father Hudson, Surely I hear a sound 

disquieting 

[31] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Leader oj Men. Wait: you shall know 
the cause. 

[Enter hurriedly, and meeting, Arnold 
and Andre on one side, Joshua Smith on 
the other,] 

Joshua Smith. General Arnold ! Major 
Andre ! 

Arnold. What is it? What has hap- 
pened? 

Joshua Smith. Colonel Livingston's 
redoubts on the eastern bank. He has 
fired on the Vulture. They are exchang- 
ing shots; and the Vulture is dropping 
down stream. She cannot bear the fire. 

Major Andre. We are lost! 

Arnold. No, no, no; not lost, not lost. 
You have only to drop down stream also. 
Mr. Smith goes with you; and you shall 
be put aboard the vessel a few miles 
below. Eh, Smith? 

Joshua Smith. Not for the world, 
General! It is daylight now, and if I 
should be seen taking this gentleman to 
the Vulture, the Yankees would shoot 
both of us. 

[32] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Arnold, Some truth in that. But 
what can we do? 

Joshua Smith. Go the other way, 
General. You must give a pass to both 
Major Andre and me, allowing us to 
cross the river, and so on to New York. 
I'll go with the Major till we reach the 
British lines. It's a plain road to safety. 

Andre. But my uniform 

Arnold. It is a case for a change of 
coats. 

Andre. But the countrymen are 
swarming in every highway 

Joshua Smith. They are all my friends 
Every rebel is my friend; — and — 
harkee, — every Tory is my friend — 
from Peekskill to New York! You'll be 
as safe as the General himself, — and 
much more comfortable, — till you reach 
the British Headquarters. 

Arnold. [To Andre.] He's right, 
Andre, he's right. It's a safer way than 
the other when all's said. He knows 
every lane in the country. [More firing.] 
Here, take the papers. And God bless 
you! There's no time to lose. This 
[33] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

pass covers all routes. The patriots 
know my hand and respect it. Off with 
you to King's Ferry, Peekskill, and White 
Plains! Off with you both! Smith has 
mounts for both of you; and you'll be in 
the city in twelve hours. All the words 
have been said: the rest is action. 

Andre. [Shaking hands with Arnold.] 
Till we meet again. 

Arnold, [With a gesture.] There in 

the fort! Sir Henry on his horse. 
And Andre like a Genius at his side, 
Guiding the host! That flag shall fall 
When next we meet: up run the British 

colors ! 
England forever! Heart, take heart, my 

lad! 
We cannot fail. The rest is counting 

gains. 
Andre. I think this exploit shall make 

England glad 
When I'm in the grave. 

Arnold. Odso ! Our names shall chron- 
icle the hills, 
And school-boys learn us. Go in haste, 

good Andre! 

[34] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Keep your mouth shut. Let Smith do 
all the talking. 

These papers make you seem some Brit- 
isher, 

An agent or a spy. You will be safe. 

In every war are trusted underlings 

Who pass from camp to camp like contra- 
band; 

Always suspected and yet always safe. 
Andre. I like not such protection. 
Must I creep 

Beneath so mean a shelter, — seem a 
spy? 

I would to Heaven my purposes were 
known 

To every noble nature in the earth! 
Arnold, Off! And the nearest way! 
[Smith changes Andre's coat.] 

Success is virtue; and we mean to win. 
[Exit Andre and Smith.] 

[Aside.] If we should fail, good youth, 
for history's eye, 

They'd write us up, — the traitor and 
the spy. 

Would God some power to telescope the 
hours 

[35] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Were lent me now! With Andre in New 

York 
I am revenged, rich, powerful, respected, 

everything 
My enemies begrudge. It cannot fail. 
O for a battle now to dry this sweat 
Of simple waiting! Sure, he cannot 

miss! 
My passes run the river up and down; 
And every day some messenger of mine 
Reaches New York; then why not he.^ 
If they should take him.^ But they will 

not take him. 
All these long months of waiting, — 
And not a soul to speak to ; I could roar, — 
Sound it against the mountains, — that 

these peaks 
Should bandy my intentions back and 

forth; 
Or tell it to the talking cataracts 
To ease my need of speech. An hour's 

patience. 
Which seems as long as the preceding 

year. 
And I shall know. [He sits down and 

falls into a contemplation; then into 
[36] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

a doze. As he falls asleep, enter 

quietly Treason.] 
Arnold, [Speaking as if out of his 

sleep,] Leave me alone, Thou 

thing of Httle might! 
Thou painted bogey! I am conscience- 
proof, 
And care no more what names I may be 

called. 
If thou cans't make this hour ghde more 

swift. 
With idle chat of owls and haunted 

men, 
I'll take thee for a gossip. Sit you there 
And hide the hour-glass. There was a 

time 
In early boyhood, when a thing like thee 
Seemed horrible, but now my mouth is 

dry 
With other terror. Thou art a cap and 

bells: 
Play me a ditty on a tambourine. 
[Starting up.] Who goes there? 
[Rushes to Smith, who enters,] 
Tell me that he is safe ! 

Joshua Smith, Within the lines, — 

[37] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Almost within the Knes, — I left the 

youth. 
He's safe in British hands; and by his 

time, 
Is telling his adventures to Sir Henry. 
Arnold, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Is it not 

a joke, Joshua? 
Ha, ha, ha! 
This is a joke that shall run crackling 

through 
America, like Samson's burning foxes. 
Ha, ha, ha ! — Andre is in New York ! 
A spasm of joy; and yet it pains my leg. 
Your hand, my friend. The laughter 

comes again — 
Ha, ha, ha! Now let them vote ! Briga- 
dier Generals 
May rain on this accursed land of pain 
As fast as Congress spawns them ! Now, 

ye rats! 
Who shall squirm last, I ask ye? 
[To Smith.] Safe, you 

say? 
You saw him with the British? 

Smith. Not quite 

so; 

[38] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

But at their outposts. 

Arnold. It will take a day 

Before I can believe it. I am drunk 
With the intoxication of revenge, 
Sweeter than wine. A day of jubilee 
Shall follow all our torments, Joshua 

Smith. 
Out on ye, pack of curs! I have ye 

now. 
Where ye'U not yelp so freely. — Ha, ha, 

ha — 
Ha, ha, ha, ha ! — And God I thank thee, 

too. 
Justice is in the world. 
Help me to the fortress. Mercy, how it 

pains ! 
Justice ! Revenge ! And, Joshua, — what 

a joke! 

[Exeunt Arnold and Smith.] 

Father Hudson. My heart is moved 
with sorrow: the sins of men enter into 
me and I am constrained. Why was 
this man chosen for suffering; and what 
balm is there for his seed.^^ 

Both Choruses. Fear God and seek 
[39] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

not thine own advantage. Pluck not the 
grape thyself; for who knows whether it 
be intended for thee? 

I will weep freely and lift up my voice 
for the sorrows of men. There is none 
that shall comfort me. 

Come, Father, let us weep together 
and add our tears to thy streams; for so 
only can the medicine of this grief flow 
down to the children of men. 



[40] 



INTERMEZZO 

Father Hudson, Is it finished? 

Leader of Men, No; it is begun. 

Father Hudson, His pain enters into 
me. I must endure these things. Woe 
is me that ever I was born of the brooks 
or received by the meadows! The pains 
of new birth get hold on me, and I see 
that hfe is sorrow. Why could ye not 
let me alone, ye pangs of knowledge; or 
go by on the other side, ye piercings of 
understanding.^ Must I be bound up 
forever with sin, and feel the hand of 
unevenness on my loins? 

Both Choruses, So it is with all crea- 
tures of a deep spirit. They are caught 
with the net; they are frozen in the ice 
of God; they are very helpless, and cry 
for relief day and night. 

Accept thy pains, for they are good. 
Reason not against fate but lay down 
thy will in earnest. 

[41] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Father Hudson, Will the man come 
again? 

Leader of Men. Once more shall thou 
see him, and remember him forever. 
Lo, now he comes as the wounded lion, 
as the tiger bereft of his prey and wounded 
by the hunter. [Enter Arnold, a pistol 
in one hand, a letter clutched in the other. 
During this speech he crosses the stage,] 
His plot has failed and his iniquity is as 
a broken toy. Wrecked is all his life. 
He flees like a robber from his own land. 
Hills look your last upon Benedict! Ye 
Highlands, filled with clouds, and ye little 
streams that jet along the crags, this is 
your general. Will he remember you in 
his dreams, think you, or find himself 
back among you in his reveries? In his 
lone island, in his long years of silence, 
ye will return to him. Bid him adieu 
without bitterness, thou rocky castle! 
For his punishment shall be within him- 
self day by day. [Exit Arnold.] Be- 
hold, [Shades his eyes with his hand as if 
observing Arnold] he is on the shore; his 
barge of eight oars obeys the signal; he 
[42] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

stands in the prow; the rowers smite the 
water. With fury they row, for he com- 
mands them; with fury and terrible ire 
they row, for they fear the man. He 
has drawn a white handkerchief from his 
breast, though his pistol never leaves his 
hand. The prow of the British sloop of 
war looms above his barge. They see 
his signal. They are letting down the 
gangway. They are taking him up into 
the British vessel. 

Chorus of Men. So down the torrent 
of infamy. 
So into the bosom of Hell, 
O Vulture, thou bearest him! 

Chorus of Women. Naught brings he 
in hand to his captors; 
Naught but the coin of his soul; 
Empty-handed goeth he. 

Chorus of Men. The great cheater 
here is cheated; 
The great traitor here betrayed: 
Where is his bargain.^ 
Chorus of Women. Bare life he saves 
by the purchase, 
Merely the breath of life; 
[43] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Merely the fountain of pain. 

Chorus of Men. Yea, out of the lips 
of aversion, 
Yea, out of the hand of contempt, 
He receiveth his price. 

Chorus of Women, Pride is the hero's 
undoing. 
Pride is the sin of the great. 
Lo, he licketh the crumbs! 

Both Choruses. So down the torrent 
of infamy. 
So into the bosom of Hell; 
O Vulture, thou bearest him! 

Father Hudson. Is all treason pun- 
ished like this among men? 
Leader of Men. Father, thou askest 

things no man can answer. 
Father Hudson. If these things could 
be known, what man would follow his 
own desires? Fear overtaketh me in 
thinking of them. I thank the gods that 
my channel is laid, I cannot change it. 
The man seems to me like one who 
should place a lake on a hilltop and cry 
to it, Stay there! He hath wrestled 
against thunder. He would lift the 
[44] 



OP BENEDICT ARNOLD 

rocks with his back; and he hes crushed 
beneath them. Can he not repent? Shall 
he never find out that fire is hot? Must 
he die still unapprised of his own foolish- 
ness? 

Leader of Men, The future is a hard 

thing to know. 
Father Hudson, Are there not charms 
that open mountain sides, 
And show what shall come forth? 

Leader of Men, All things to come 
Are come already, — save the power to 
see them. 
Father Hudson, Would I might know 
the ending of that man. 
Whose fate and story clinging to my 

name 
Do make me human! 

Leader of Men, Human was his end. 
And very moving. Wouldst thou wait 

awhile, 
Or see the story now? 

Father Hudson, Now, now, my son! 
Invocation, [Sung in contralto voice, as 
before, by the Leader of Women.] 
Storm-shadowed, precipitous valley, 
[45] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

And ye threatening towers of stone that 
hold back the mountains, 

Letting the dark stream pass; Storm 
King, and Donderberg, homes of 
reverberant thunder; 

Thou steep theatre, where his story trod 
its stage, 

And where the eirchng thought of it 
returns 

With ever profounder, ever accumulating 
echoes. 

Calling to Humanity, compelling atten- 
tion, provoking the unexpected 
tear, — 

Open yet once again your treasured 
legend; 

Out of the encrusted box, the precious 
parchment. 

Out of the vestment-chambers, the hal- 
lowed rags. 
[As the verse now changes its form, the 

music also slightly changes character.] 

Lo, now, our holiday calls on the past for 
its lessons, 
Lo, while the flame of the frost-bite 
fingers the dale, 
[46] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Lo, in the lambent blaze of autumnal 
quiescence, 
Flows Father Hudson, at peace, 
through his populous vale. 

Fruit trees garland his margins, — vines, 
and the brazen 
Hillocks of billowy rye o'er the undu- 
lous deep 
Stretch to the Berkshires, proclaiming 
the conquering season; 
Dash on the Catskills, repulsed by the 
envious steep. 

Woe, royal river! In grief I gaze on thy 
harvest, 
Anxious to me my thought as thy 
riches unroll. 
Mortal, beware lest in riotous plenty 
thou starvest! 
Give me the fruits of the spirit, the 

songs of the soul. 
Father Hudson, A sweet voice but 
sad, — trembling sad. 

Leader of Men. Hush, it invokes the 
craggy wilderness, 
[47] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

And seeks an entrance for its piercing cry. 
Leader of Wom£n, [Sings. The music 

again changing with the metre.] 
Give up the scene, give up, ye sordid 

rocks, 
The last of Arnold in his English home. 
Which in your bosom lives for evermore, 
A deathless picture; England cast it out 
Not being English, and it shivered on. 
Coiling about the world, till it was caught 
And locked into your rocky fastnesses 
Where it lives ever; and your mountain 

ribs 
Ache with the imposition. 



[48] 



ACT II 

[The centre of the stage slowly opens, 
disclosing a sitting-room, A writing-table 
covered with letters. Somewhere in the fore- 
ground a sofa or low couch. An engraved 
portrait of George III, Arnold is sitting at 
the table, but his arm-chair is turned away. 
He is in a profound reverie, gazing at the 
floor. He is dressed in the uniform of a 
British officer. His hair is gray and his 
face worn. At the back of the stage at one 
side of the door, sits Treason, somewhat in 
the attitude of a sheriff's officer keeping 
guard.] 

Treason. [To Arnold.] What are you 

muttering, comrade ? Go to sleep ! 
And yet sleep not too sound; there's 

work ahead! 
With all the world against us. What of 

that? 
We ne'er were beaten yet. Get money 

first: 

[49] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

A fortune in your fist. With honest luck. 
Your hand against the world ! But money 

first. 
[Aside,] He breaks apace, and I await 

each day 
The knock of Death — 
[Knocking.] No, no, not yet. 

Sir Death! 
There's life in him and, mayhap, years 

of grief. 
Leave me to tousle him. He's strong as 

hemp 
And bears his ragging well. 
[More knocking.] Not yet, not yet! 

[Enter Death.] 
Treason. You are unjust to come be- 
fore the time. 
Death, The moment and myself are 

on the stroke. 
Treason, Thou deemest that this man 

is soon to die.f^ 
Death, Death is already in him. 
Treason, Yea, his body. — 

His mind is brighter than it was before. 
Death, My shadow lights his mind; 
but it is Death. 
[50] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Treason. How hast thou entered him 

without a struggle? 
Death. The struggle was thy work. 
Treason, Give me some moments. 

Death. [Pointing to the door with great 
dignity.] The man is mine. Hence! 
Silence! Obey! 
[Exit Treason. Death takes Treason's 
place by the door.] 

Arnold. [Waking.] They deny me the 
opportunity of honorable death. 
This is the twentieth year of sodden 

waiting. 
Fighting by land and sea and soldier's 

work, 
As hot as heart could wish, — boy gen- 
erals, — 
Wars on all hands, in Holland, France, 

and Spain, 
With military honors falling thick; — 
And I, a Tantalus set in a lake of thirst, 
Up to my neck in battles all about. 
Without the power to reach them! 

[Enter Mrs. Arnold. She has a youthful 
face, and her hair is prematurely white. 
She passes by Death without seeing him. 
[51] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

A gesture of surprise and pity as she sees 
Arnold. She kisses him on his forehead, 
and sits down next him on a lower chair,] 
Mrs. Arnold. Surely, my husband you 
have not been forth! 
After the sullen fever you have had 
'Twas most unwise. — 

[Pause.] 
You have been grieved, and wear the 
ashen look. 
Arnold. Age, and the chafing of a few 

stern thoughts. 
Mrs. Arnold. Have I not earned the 

right to know them? 
Arnold. Indeed, thou hast ! An angel 
from the sky 
Accepting the bad bargain of a man, 
Could not have found a worse. You 

took me up 
A battered piece of ordnance, broken in 

spirit, 
Accursed to myself and to my kind; 
And underneath me thou hast held an 

arm 
Sustaining as the seraph's upward look 
Askance against Apollyon. 
[52] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Mrs, Arnold. Benedict! 

You shall not talk so. — 

Arnold. Next, your mother's 

heart 
Became the mother to my three grown 

boys, 
Giving them such devotion and such love 
As rarely flows from out a mother's hope 
To her own children. 

Mrs. Arnold. Benedict, your words 
Cut me hke knives. Why, why this 
catalogue? 
Arnold. Something compels me. — 
Mrs. Arnold. Where have you been? 
Has some insulting taunt 
Cast by a coward in a public place 
Where you could not resent it, stung your 

patience? 
These are the pebbles small men throw 
at great. 
Arnold. No. 'Tis the season for my 
wounds to ache; 
And with them aches the rest. — 

Mrs. Arnold. Where have you been? 
Arnold. Three hours in his Lordship's 
ante-room. 

[53] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Mrs, Arnold. The War Office? And 

what has been decided? 
Arnold. I could not see his Lordship. 

Three hours late. 
They sent me word his Lordship was not 

in. 
It is the iteration wears me down. 
Year after year, — year after leaden 

year, — 
Kicking my heels in England's ante-rooms, 
Where proud men pass me by: and now 

and then 
I catch a glimpse of some American, — 
A former pal, a former enemy ; — 
It is the same, both pal and enemy 
Give me a fit of trembling. 'Twas not so; 
Yet as the years decline our nerves grow 

sick: 
I dread it more and more. 

Mrs. Arnold. O Benedict, 

This is the mood that kills us. Have we 

not 
A thousand times resolved it, made all 

plain? 
You in your right of conscience chose a 

course 

[54] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Beside your King, recanting many errors, 
And following the only light you knew. 
The king himself accepted your return 
And raised you with his hand. 

Arnold, [Very quietly.] I was a 

traitor. 
Mrs. Arnold. [With great vehemence.] 
No, no, no! 
You were the noblest hero of them all! 
Arnold. And now they do not trust 

me. 
Mrs. Arnold. Is there a soldier in the 
British Isles 
That has a list of battles like your own? 
Arnold. It may be not. 
Mrs. Arnold. Then make allowances 
for jealousy. 
To Englishmen, their battles are a sport, 
With every post of danger dearly prized. 
Like the crack stations in the shooting 

field, — 
Never enough for all. They bribe and 

jockey, — 
Knife their own brothers to get near the 

spoil. 
And would they not repel a foreigner, — 
[55] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

One they had cause to envy? English- 
men 
Are very unforgiving of defeat. 
It is your glory, the impediment: 
So gluttonous are soldiers of reward — 
So sporting-keen are Englishmen for fame. 
Arnold. It may be so. 
Mrs. Arnold. Your temperament is of 
colossal mould, 
And sees too simply. 

Arnold. I was a traitor. 

Mrs. Arnold. Are you a man to take 
the common talk, 
And be its dupe? How often have we 

spoke 
Of the returning wars that shall restore 
The lustred fame and power that is your 

due? 
Belated are they; yet to reason's eye 
Certain to come. God keeps such emi- 
nence 
As in your soul exists, to show mankind 
The height of heroes. 

Arnold. Error : it is gone out. 

Mrs. Arnold. Never such light goes 
out ! No smoke of the world — 
[56] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Sin, error, evil, anguish, touch it not. 
It burns forever with ethereal force 
Beyond pollution. I can see your soul; 
And never has its aspect been more 

bright 
Than on this morn. 

Arnold, You are not used to talk to 

me like this. 
Mrs. Arnold. Nor you to tell me that 

you are a traitor. 
Arnold. Perhaps some change is com- 
ing over us. 
Mrs, Arnold. It may be freedom from 

the load of thought. 
Arnold. It may be death. 
[She kneels by him in silent anguish.] 

Both Choruses. Surely truth is not 
born except through pain; and the long 
delay increaseth it. 

It is a happiness for a young man to 
see hii error. But for an old, only death 
remains. He hath no strength for new 
things. Let him die in his old ways, 
yea, though they be evil. 

Very sad is repentance when it is too 
[57] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

late; when the blight has fallen, and no 
fruit Cometh thereafter. Very sad is the 
grief of an old man. I cannot lay hold 
of it. There is no comfort to be given 
him, for he knoweth the world. 

Father Hudson, What causes the man 
to see these things now? 

Leader of Men, What causes thy 
waters to pour down in March, or the 
leaf upon your banks to sprout in April? 
It is because the season fulfils itself; and 
what is to be, cometh forth, and no one 
may stop it. 

Both Choruses, Now may I say that 
no man is made of iron, or lives beyond 
the stroke of reproach. 

The arrows strike him when he shows 
it not. The scornful glance of a friend 
reaches his quick. He suffers very much. 

In his last days he betrayeth the havoc. 
In his fall his wounds are laid bare. The 
secret of his heart becomes an open book, 
and a child may read it. 

Arnold, I would not speak; but the 
sea-bottom of me 
[58] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Is being raked to the surface. Hold you 

still: 
You are the daughter of good Tory folk, 
And common talk on King and loyalty 
Had in your ears a meaning and a place 
Quite strange to mine. For my Rhode 

Island stock, 
Grown far afield, and long acclimated. 
Had dropped all meanings for the name 

of King, 
Of Church, of mother country. Such 

appeals 
Were like a tinsel fringe of superstition, 
Alien imposture. It was all a fraud. 

[He walks across the room, takes the por- 
trait of George III and throws it, not sav- 
agely, but with deliberate contempt, into the 
corner, where it lies shattered. Mrs. Ar- 
nold remains on her knees and raises her 
hands in helpless supplication.] 
There lies the dog that bit me. Now 

desist : 
It is not easy; yet it must come out. 
A letter that I wrote to this same King, 
Or to his secretary, George Germain, — 
Imploring favors for my villainy — 
[59] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

If I appear unmanned, it's physical, 
And needs no moment's thought — The 
letter's here, 
[Takes a letter from his pocket.] 
And through its hell of shame as through 

a gate 
I see Elysian fields, peopled with com- 
rades. 
Mrs. Arnold. [Aside.] God have 

mercy upon us! 
Arnold. I'll not read all, but phrases 

here and there. 
[Arnold reads from the letter with some 
difficulty and with pauses — but very dis- 
tinctly.] 

"... conscious of the rectitude of my 
intentions. . . . that I may be restored to 
the favor of my most Gracious Sovereign 
— ... cheerfully cast myself at his feet 
imploring his Royal Grace and Protec- 
tion. . . . the unalterable attachment to 
the Person, Family, and Interests of my 
Sovereign, and to the Glory of his 
reign. — ..." 

[He throws the letter quietly on the table. 
To Mrs. Arnold.] 

[60] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

West Point I did deliberately betray: 
I begged the post intending to betray it. 
All was conceived before I married you. 
Mrs. Arnold, [As before.] God have 

mercy upon us! 
Arnold. They must pet me then, 

To show that loyal treason reaps reward. 
'Twas policy, not liking for my face, 
That made King George so sweet. 
What in this world of savage Englishmen, 
Strange monsters that they are, have 

you and I 
Found of a country? Friends, good 

hearts and true; 
But alien as the mountains of the 

moon, 
More unrelated than the Polander, 
Are Englishmen to us. They are a race, 
A selfish, brawling family of hounds. 
Holding a secret contract on each fang, 
'For us,' 'for us,' 'for us.' They'll fawn 

about; 
But when the prey's divided; — Keep 

away! 
I have some beef about me and bear up 
Against an insolence as basely set 
[61] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

As mine own infamy; yet I have been 

Edged to the outer ehff. I have been 
weak, 

And played too much the lackey. What 
am I 

In this waste, empty, cruel, land of Eng- 
land, 

Save an old castaway, — a buccaneer, — 

The hull of derelict Ambition, — 

Without a mast or spar, the rudder gone, 

A danger to mankind! 

[He sits down upon the couch. Mrs. 

Arnold throws herself on his knees and 

sobs convulsively.] 

Both Choruses. Who shall praise a 
woman, save He that made her, save 
God that understandeth all things .^^ 

I will sing a song of woman, and mag- 
nify the wife of a man's soul. His good- 
ness she has discerned when no man else 
can find it: his crimes are known to her, 
yet is he not in them: she seeketh his 
soul among many. 

She divineth salvation out of hell; and 
bringeth water from the desert. Who 
[62] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

shall praise a woman save He that made 
her; save God who understandeth all 
things? 

Father Hudson. Sorrow is erecting a 
tomb for this man in my heart. Whence 
comes the peculiar pang, my children? 
Whence comes this pity that will not be 
denied, but bedews your faces? 

Leader of Men, From the greatness 
of the man, comes it Father; and from 
his ignorance of himself. 

Father Hudson. Is it true that he was 
a hero? 

Leader of Men. Such a hero as an- 
tiquity can show, towering, magnificent, 
made of cloud and thunder, made of 
lightning and glory, a god among fighting 
men, a Hector or Mars appearing from 
the bosom of the sky on the day of battle, 
bringing victory. 

No one had seen his like before; nor 
since him has one like him come. To 
his country he gave the column of his 
strength. In her need he sustained her. 
He planted her high. His name became 
a bulwark: many times gave he his 
[63] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

strength. Yea, his hfe also grudged he 
not. 

Father Hudson. Would he had died 
in his glory, would he had been struck 
down and died long ago! So had he 
been spared this humiliation. On my 
shores he belongs: the memory of his 
infamy and of his fame covers me: Sara- 
toga knew him, and West Point acknowl- 
edges him. No tomb shall he have; yet 
shall the hills remember him. His glory 
is eaten up in shame; and yet shall 
mercy say her word. See, he begins 
again. What new anguish will he reveal? 

Arnold, [He has now recovered his com- 

posure.] Where are the boys? If 

death be soon to come 
I'd gladly see them. Is it not most 

strange 
That one possessing nothing to bequeath 
Of all those things men covet for their 

sons. 
Should have so many? For what rank 

or name. 
Honor or fatherland, or worldly goods, 
[64] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

All that men sweat for, — have I here 

to leave? 
Country I've none. My land was over 

there 
Where my first honors sprouted. And 

my boys 
Are foreigners, — young Englishmen — 

brought up 
Upon King George's bounty. When he 

bought 
My loyalty he took my children, too. 
Ben, he is dead, my eldest, — he was 

killed 
In the West Indies, fighting for the King. 
Sir Grenville Temple brought me back 

his sword. 
(God bless him for it!) Send and fetch 

down Ben's sword. 
[Mrs. Arnold rings. Enter servant. She 
speaks to servant in dumh-show. Exit ser- 
vant.] 

Richard and Henry, your two foster sons. 
Settled in Canada on royal grants. 
And our four sons, — your Edward, Rob- 
ert, George 
And little William, — are all pensioners, 
[Q5\ 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Assisted servants of the English crown. 
Where are they? I must see them. It 

is strange 
That I, remembering them, can yet not 

think 
Quite plainly where they are. 

Mrs. Arnold. My dearest Lord 

There's fever in your cheek. The day's 

distress 
Has worked some downfall to your shat- 
tered brain, 
You're very sick. — 

Arnold. The boys, I asked 

about — 
Are they away, or here.f^ 

Mrs. Arnold. The elder three 

At school and college, and our little Will 
Just home from school. 

Arnold. I pray you let him 

come; 
My blessings on them all must fall 

through him; 
Nor will they wait: the passage of an 

hour 
May find me gone. — Stay; there is yet 

one son. 

[66] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Mrs, Arnold, No, Benedict, you have 

described them all. 
Arnold, Ay, but there is one, born in 
Canada, 
My natural son, whose mother is no 

more; 
And yet my son, — and brother to the 

rest. 
And ever at my cost I've brought him up. 
I cannot leave him out. He is of age 
And elder than your boys. 

Mrs, Arnold. A son of 

yours — 
Arnold. A natural son of mine, whose 
bringing up 
Is at my charge. I cannot cut him off. 
Though of my name I scanted him the 

curse, 
I ever sent him help. 

[Gives her a paper,] 
Mrs, Arnold, You have done right 

To count him in; and I accept him. 
And will provide a portion like the rest 
Though at my children's cost. 

Arnold. Send Wil- 

liam here: 

[67] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

The time grows short. 

[Enter servant bringing the sword which 
Mrs. Arnold takes and gives to Arnold.] 
Mrs. Arnold, [To servant.] Send Mas- 
ter William here. 
[Exit servant. Enter William Arnold, 
a boy of eight.] 

Arnold. William, you are a soldier: — 

This old sword 
Was once your brother Ben's, — my 

eldest boy. 
He served his God, his Country, and his 

King, 
And found a soldier's death. It is a 

record 
We may be proud of in the family. 
You and your brothers, Edward, George, 

and Robert, 
Are dedicated soldiers to the King. 
England, to all of you, is generous 
To overflowing: See ye pay her back 
In overflowing measure with your lives. 
You are a soldier. Sir, and understand 
The duties of a soldier; when you 

grow 
A little older you will read, perhaps, 
[68] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Something about your father; for his 

name 
Is written on a page of history; 
You cannot miss it. When you find it 

there, 
Remember only all the soldier part; 
The soldier part he leaves you: all the 

rest 
Was something suffered, that was meant 

for him 
But not for you. There, go my boy; 

good-bye. 
You must to all your brothers tell this 

news. 
And say I blessed them. They will un- 
derstand, 
Each in his measure, on the appointed 

day, 
My message to them. See you bear it 

safe 
It is a charge of honor and becomes you. 
[Arnold kisses the little boy, and gives 
him the sword with which he walks toward 
the door. The child feels that something 
very serious is happening, although he does 
not entirely understand it. When near the 
[69] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

door he turns, runs back and embraces the 
old man again; and then exit.] 

Both Choruses. Now will I say that 
children add to life a glory not belong- 
ing to it; and a pang beyond the pain 
of this world. 

In them is pain; in their birth, danger; 
and in their tender years, a care; there- 
after, sorrow or joy, too keen, too keen, 
too poignant, too sharp, — cutting the 
heart in twain. 

Happy are they who know it not. 
Happy are the childless; for the great 
sufferings are kept from them. Blessed 
are they: I will praise and envy them 
always. 

Arnold, Now is my burden lightened. 
One adieu, — 
The worst, remains; and then, — I know 

not what, — some relaxation 
Or sweetness of the grave. 
[To Mrs. Arnold.] Good-bye, great soul; 
I leave thee sorrows, many-pointed 
cares, 

[70] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

The stress of growing sons and straight- 
ening means; 
Yet one great blackness passes from your 

Hfe, 
Unshadowing you all. I see ye stand 
Safe in the port, — as on a margent shore 
Clustered in sunlight, — while my bark 

moves on. 
I am not of ye; I am far away 
And long ago; one of those Argonauts 
That in the western seas, with sturdy oar, 
Urging their venturesome and sacred 

bark, 
Steered a new course, — a band, a broth- 
erhood, — 
And, though a Judas, I was one of them. 
Get me my uniform. I wore it last 
On that last day on which my sun went 

down. 
And I, descending now to seek the sun, 
Must put it on. 

Mrs, Arnold, Dear Benedict, your 
uniform .f^ 
You have it on. 

Arnold. No, no! not this, not this! 

Ring; call a servant! 
[71] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

Mrs. Arnold, [Rings, To servant,] 
Whate'er he asks for, get it quickly for 

him, 
But make no questions. 

[Arnold speaks to servant in dumb-show. 
Exit servant.] 

Arnold, The very coat I did the trea- 
son in. 
By accident preserved, and then, — and 

then — 
I could not cast it off : it clung to me — 
Waiting this day. It lay there like a dog, 
Patient against a master's drunkenness, 
Watching his face. 

[Enter servant with the coat of the 
American uniform, and the sword-knots,] 
Thou one unbroken link with all the men 
I walked with on the mountain heights 

of youth, 
When glory shone, and trumpets heralded, 
And drums were rolling! We were 

patriots then, 
Warren, and Putnam, Lincoln, Knox, and 

Schuyler, 
Morgan, and Stark, Montgomery, Sul- 
livan — 

[72] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

And scores of faces burnished by the 

winds, 
That shone with glory — 

[He takes off the coat of his British uni- 
form, the servant assisting, and puts on 
the coat of his old American uniform.] 

Never weep, dear wife. 
I seek the truth you teach me. It is 

thus 
Your thoughts do guide me; — and I 

must go back 
To where I lost the way. 
[Showing sword-knots.] That ornament 
Washington gave me, — with such words 

of praise 
As must preserve it till the judgment day 
Against corruption. Should I meet that 

man, 
Will his reluctant and offended shade 
Pass sadly on.^^ Or will he greet me 

there, — 
There, but not here. There, there, but 

never here! 
On toward that shadowy spot I blindly 

go. 
Claiming the past. 

[73] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

[He lies down on the couch, and Mrs. 
Arnold kneels by his side. Exit Death.] 



Both Choruses. Surely the past must 
be allowed to all men; and not to him 
alone. What good there was in us can- 
not be lost. 

God forgets not the virtue of those 
who have failed; and why should man 
seek to judge them.^ Verily all courage 
is immortal: the man himself cannot 
kill it. 

Lo, what great things are done through 
even bad men; and this man had in him 
much goodness. 

[A pause. Distant military music. Four 
young boys dressed in white, and bearing 
tall spears with little banners attached to 
the tips, enter and stand each at one corner 
of the couch. The arrangement suggests a 
medieval church tomb, of which Mrs. 
Arnold's kneeling figure forms a part.] 



[74] 



OF BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Both Choruses, Not on the shores of 
America — 
Not on our shuddering strand, 
Can Arnold's tomb be laid. 

Nor in his land of illusions — 
Britain's contemptuous Isle, 
Can stone be added to stone. 

Yet in a corner of Memory, 
Hallowed by terrible pain. 
Stand the stones of his grave. 

There, his trophies of victory, 
Piled in marshal array. 
Gorgeous, perennial — 

Spoils, heroic, tumultuous. 
Emblems, worthy remembrance — 
Marking a hero's grave. 

[While this is being sung there enters a 
procession of youths dressed in white, each 
carrying a gigantic wreath, inscribed with 
one of Arnold's victories: — The Maine 
Wilderness, Quebec, Valcour's Island, St, 
[75] 



TREASON AND DEATH 

John's, Ridgefield, Bemis Heights, Sara- 
toga, etc. They circle the group, and pile 
the wreaths about the couch, then stand 
about in symmetry.] 

Father Hudson. Enough, my children, 
I understand. Leave me awhile. Let 
there be no loud praises. Go silently. 

[A dead march is played. Father Hud- 
son r^5ifm^5 the plastic, immobile, and almost 
invisible attitude which he occupied at the 
opening of the play. The Choruses file 
silently out, one on each side of the orchestra.] 

THE END 



[76] 



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